


now it all amounts to you

by soldierly



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierly/pseuds/soldierly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request was for angst, Tony Stark style. Tony and Steve are in a car accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now it all amounts to you

Steve -- even Steve, big as he is, shoulders wide and torso long and legs strong and muscled -- is dwarfed in the hospital bed, pale and thin, with his hands resting on his stomach in a way that reminds Tony too much of death. He reaches up, stops, then reaches up again, shifts Steve's hands to his side. He's not supposed to be here -- visiting hours are long over, but he is Tony goddamn Stark, and that is exactly what he told the night shift nurse, and he hadn't been particularly forceful, so if he's honest -- and he always is, usually at the worst times -- she probably only let him stay because his voice was raw and thready and his eyes were red and he might have looked like he was ready to jump out a window.

He kind of was. He was keeping on because there was progress, there had been progress, _progress_ , he kept reminding himself -- Steve was getting better, he was fine.

It's still Tony's fault. People who were driving always blamed themselves for the accidents, he knew, but it actually was his fault. Tony Stark is ace at blaming himself, and he's drowning in it now, the knowledge that he'd been looking away, that he had reached down for his phone and Steve had been saying _Tony, don't, I'll get it, the road, you're going too fast anyway_ , and that's the last thing he coherently remembers before the sickening crunch of metal, the slick slide across the highway, and the _slam_ of a second car into their back end. He knows it happened, knows how bad it was, can remember looking over at Steve -- _Steve, Steve, come on, wake up_ \-- and Steve was leaning into the shattered, blown-out hole of his window, so bloodied that Tony could barely see the pale of his face.

Steve, he'd said, pleading. He wasn't even _bruised_ , not then -- now he has one cutting down from his chest to his right hip, but he doesn't care. It's nothing compared to Steve.

 _Broken arm_ , the doctor had said, _fractured hip, possible kidney damage, we think his spine is all right, but observation is critical..._

And he still hasn't woken. Tony had asked, had tried to recall what medical knowledge he had (not a lot; he'll always be better at knitting circuits than skin) and said _Is he in a coma?_ The way the doctor looked at him had shot a hole clear through Tony's chest.

Tony curls a little tighter, drags his suit jacket around his shoulders. It smells like Steve and expensive alcohol, cigarette smoke and perfume; smells like the clubs Steve doesn't like to go to, but he does anyway because Tony likes them. Steve, who gives so much for him, and who might --

"Mr. Stark?" That's the night nurse, the same one. She has coffee in her hand, and he looks at her for a long moment before realizing that yes, she's actually there, speaking to him. He's exhausted.

"Thanks," he mumbles, and she hands it to him and slips out. The coffee isn't whiskey, which is what he'd really like, but it's enough to keep him awake a little longer, keep him watching over Steve. Because he will; he'll stay until Steve wakes up, until he can look at Tony and Tony can say _I'm sorry, you know I am_ because Tony Stark never apologizes, but if Steve will just _wake up_ , if he'll _be all right_ , Tony will do anything.

And if he doesn't.

Well.


End file.
